


Scarborough Fair

by Oboeist3



Series: TIL Universe Extras/Spinoffs [2]
Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: M/M, Peepers-centric, Self-Harm, TIL Universe, me? projecting onto fictional characters? dont be silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oboeist3/pseuds/Oboeist3
Summary: A story about history, recovery, and bad gay romance novels.





	

The first cut he ever made was crooked, and he hates it. There's nothing otherwise remarkable about it, the faded brown scar he sometimes catches sight of in the mirror, a stain on the edge of his hip. It's similar to the stretch marks on either side of it, but the angle ruins it, too sharp. Not like the blade he'd used, exacto knife, he thinks. It was an experiment of sorts, to see if it felt good, if it helped the buzzing chaos under his skin. It didn't. 

It's much less dramatic than the puckered white slash just above his navel, which he can't avoid seeing, feeling when he slides on his shirt. Now **that** was a blade. Slid into his flesh like hot butter, and came out with enough force to make the finite serration show, even years later, in the turned up edge of one side. 

Maybe that was the reason he started cutting again, after coming back from war, instead of drinking too much or eating too little. The shame of it, the pain beyond physical. Scratched onto his soul. He's not sure, he hasn't even gotten into his childhood with Wander yet. Not that he's told his therapist much at all. 

He's gotten much better at it, in any case. The precision of training atop his own nature means the lines are perfect in dimension, parallel and similar in length. At first, he only added them after an attack, when he feels like a traitor for having any blood left in him at all. The pain was grounding, calming, like a hit. But some days he looks at his skin and is struck, for no particular reason at all, with the urge to slice his skin to pieces. Sometimes, he indulges. Until Hater. 

Hater, who is loud and annoying. Who sings along to his music obnoxiously. Never cleans out his van. Turns into a grump when he loses video games. Doesn't know how to cook. Gloats when he's victorious at work. Drinks too much coffee. The list goes on. 

But he's also kind. Smart. Funny in a melodramatic way. Fucking hot as hell. Most importantly, he doesn't treat him like he's broken, even when he thinks he is. Hater stays, through everything. He listens, and eventually kisses fast as light, bending time to a standstill.

It's not that he fixes him, because he's not sure he can be, or should. But the buzzing of the bad days quiets around his partner, seems less important. He always has someone to talk to, someone who gets it in a way that Wander, bless them, just can't. The personal connection, he supposes. They fit together, in work and love, with an ease that shouldn't be possible, but is. 

Still, there's shame choking his throat when after one night spent together in bliss, the fucking first night of course, he wakes up in agony. Hater's still asleep, solid as a rock in this too, so on habit he slips on his underwear and into his partner's bathroom, pries the end off his razor and pops out the blades. It takes all of ten seconds, and he feels a morbid amusement at the accomplishment. He doesn't even graze his fingertips anymore, since losing the feeling in the pads was so inconvenient.  

He's just deciding which of the blades would be most efficient, usually the third, when the light clicks on, and a sleep-hazy, naked Hater blunders in. 

"Peeps? You in here?" he asks, looking around for him. Hater's body freezes at the sight of the blades in his palm. He flinches. 

"I'm sorry. I'll get you a new razor, I swear! I'm so sorry I should have just left when I had a nightmare and gone home. I'll leave now. I'm sorry." he babbles, but stops when Hater wraps his arms around him tight. 

"Should have just woken me up, bro." Hater says, as if this was a perfectly acceptable title, and solution. "Could've talked or something. Could've helped." As if he's ok with that, as if he **wants** it. Which doesn't make any sense. 

"Why?" he asks, so confused and yet aching for it to be true. 

"Cause I love you." Hater replies, sleep easy, but it had always come easier to him to say, and always will. "Are you feeling better now?" 

"No. Not really." he says, because he doesn't lie to him if he can help it. 

"M'kay. Will you be?" 

"Maybe?" 

"Would cuddling help?" 

"Probably." 

"Ok. Cuddling it is." he declares, leading him back to the bed, holding him in a gentle, close embrace, close enough to feel each breath, hear the slow hum of his heart. It's nice. Soothing. "Wanna talk about it?" Hater asks, once the tension starts to fall from his shoulders. He shrugs. 

"No point. It's pretty much always the same." he says, shuddering. Hater pulls him a little closer, skin touching. He shivers, not used to it yet. Might never be. 

"You're going to have to, someday." he says, not pushing, just reminding. 

"I know." 

"Soon, if you want to get better." 

"Yeah." 

They leave it at that, but later in the week, Hater draws a box on the edge of his calendar and titles it 'Days Clean.' It's actually quite motivating, in a weird way. He likes watching the numbers go up, and the day after he breaks it, he gets to add a little one again. A step in the right direction. 

The first time he reaches seven, Hater gets him a reward. Another addition to his collection of trashy gay romance novels. The characters are and speak mostly Spanish, but there's a note on the inside cover from Hater, saying he'd be happy to translate. There's a winky face after it that makes him blush, and laugh. Hater's good at that. 

Hater's good at so many things, not that he could ever tell him as much, he'd preen. But especially healing him. Yes, that's a good word, healing. Because he doesn't make the pain go away, but he waits it out with him. He reminds him obvious things. He gives him love he hasn't yet earned, and is starting to think he can't, and that's ok. 

Hater makes him feel like he's going to be ok after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 24th of December!


End file.
